**IMPORTANT NOTE** This is NOT intended to be a smut fic, so if you're looking for 'porn with plot', look elsewhere. Sorry to those of you who have been mislead... there will be steamy moments, but to do anything graphic would take away from the intention of this story - which is to be heartfelt, not smutty. Sorry! I hope most of you still stick around for the non-graphic fun!

Hello, all! This little plot bunny managed to bite me so hard that I completed an entire outline and the whole first chapter within 24-hours. This month is going to be a whirlwind of exams and graduation, so needless to say, there will likely not be another update until after May 24... but know that I definitely will not abandon this story, because I know exactly where it's going! I will still, however, remain open to suggestions along the way.

The inspiration behind this plot came to me one night after reading Labyrinth Fanfic. The stories were good, but I was getting tired of the whole "Goblin King needs to win Sarah over because she doesn't know if she can trust him with her feelings" plot device. In this version, Sarah doesn't want to trust him with her feelings, because she's been burnt by that lovey-dovey stuff. Also, in this version, Sarah is not a virgin, and the offer Jareth made to her really was just to distract her. Mostly.

Thus far, I'm keep the rating T, but as you will understand once you've read this chapter, it may very well change to M later. This depends upon how spicy I feel like getting. (heeheehee)

I do not own the Labyrinth, or David Bowie (unfortunately), nor do I own any of the book references in this chapter.

Update as of 5/5/2015: I have embellished the dating-woes tidbit. I think it's quite humorous myself. Go check it out!

Update as of 5/31/15: due to plot reasons, I'm changing the time frame of this opening act. Where before we saw Sarah in February and the end of winter, we are now seeing her in August, and the beginning if autumn (and the school year). I have changed chapter details accordingly! Sorry for any confusion.

Chapter One - Just Peachy

"I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say" – Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier

Thirteen.

Thirteen clumsy introductions and awkward set-ups.

Thirteen too-big, fake smiles covering up impersonal once-overs that made her want to wave some Female Equality pamphlets in their faces.

Thirteen forced dinners full to the brim of fantastically dull small talk.

Thirteen equally clumsy and awkward goodbyes as her hopes of something more gratifying were crushed by the inept and, sometimes, disgustingly eager and sloppy attempts at anything remotely physical.

Sarah Williams groaned into her hands as she trudged back to her lonely little apartment close to university. She had just recently managed to botch her thirteenth first-date in as many weeks.

Despairingly, she crossed her arms and glared at the fallen but colorful leaves beneath her sensibly heeled boots. Was she truly asking for so much? Were her expectations too high? It was not as though she wanted a long-term relationship – Heavens knew she had had enough of That. The only thing that could come of That were hurt screaming matches, nights crying all alone, wishing (but not really 'wishing', of course, because wishes are dangerous) she was someone else, anyone else –

Nope, you are not going there. Back to the point, Sarah.

The point was that she really just wanted someone who appealed to her physically. Roughly three weeks after… That had happened, and Sarah had begun to notice the absence of something much more compelling than the emotional ordeal. This was, of course, the physical ordeal, or lack thereof. Now, thirteen weeks after this realization, and she had still not been physically intimate with another human being. The grand total was therefore sixteen weeks, but the first three did not really count because she had been too numbed. Now, she was anything but - instead, she itched a deep and primitive itch that she could only scratch so much by herself. And she had tried, too.

The result, of course, was that Sarah Williams was incredibly sexually frustrated.

The first few weeks, she had been set up with guys through sympathetic girlfriends... her expectations had been higher then, and none of them had made the cut. Number One had horrendously bad breath, and she had recommended him to an orthodontist with serious concern. Number Two had made no effort to hide the fact that he was not only ogling her breasts, but those of every female within a five meter radius. She actually had handed him an Female Equality pamphlet then, and he had given her this kind of knowing look. She never saw him again. Number Three had been nice, and his physique had certainly been appealing. The only problem was, he seemed to be all-too-aware of that fact. In the three hours she had spent with him, she had become intimately acquainted with his workout routines, what muscles he focused on for which days, and had learned far too much information about his personal trainer. They never went out for a second date.

A week later, she heard from the friend who had introduced them that he was newly engaged to aforementioned personal trainer. Sarah had not been surprised.

Number Four had written her poetry, which was nice for a while. He soon told her, however, that he could no longer see her, because he needed to sever all earthly connections in his journey to 'see beyond the veil'... whatever that meant. They were actually still on friendly terms, and he still sent her poems occasionally. Number Five had been... a bit too enthusiastic. She was forced to change her lock and alert her landlady when once she had come home to see him in her kitchen, chopping up a very large piece of meat - "for dinner, sweetheart" - with a very large butcher's knife. Sarah did not own any butcher's knives. She also had not given him a key.

Once that supply ran out, she briefly tried online searching - that had lasted for the next two weeks, and she vowed never to try such again. Numbers Six had turned out to be a balding, pot-bellied man who was going through a mid-life crisis. He had ended up crying into her shoulder for an hour because his wife was leaving him. Number Seven was, conversely, actually a seventeen-year old, and she ended up taking him to a movie and driving him back to his parents' house. She had made sure to inform them that their very-under-aged son was peddling himself on the internet as a twenty-five year old track star.

This had put her somewhere around the seventh week of Disaster Dating. Trying to keep an upbeat look on things, she had decided to try speed dating for four weeks after that - only two of them had stuck around for more than coffee, and the two that did were repugnant. Numbers Eight and Ten mostly wanted someone to chat with about their political and environmental views in their preferred 'hipster' cafes. Number Nine had simply been an insufferable, sexist ass, and she had dropped that like a Firey's head. Number Eleven spent two solid hours making increasingly unhealthy comparisons between her and his mother.

Number Twelve had seemed promising, at first. That was until about an hour into their date, a blonde woman promptly stormed up to them, gave her an ear full about "man-snatching", and proceeded to very aggressively snog a very smug-looking Number Twelve. Sarah had done the polite thing to do, and let them be.

This most recent debacle that had the misfortune to be named 'date' had been the last push required to take Sarah from 'Searching' to 'Desperate'. The man had been a blind date – perhaps one of her less inspired ideas, but she had been grasping at straws. They had agreed to meet at a quaint little diner near her home, so that Sarah could walk without having to give him her address to pick her up. She had learned that lesson after Number Five, whom she had since issued a restraining order against.

Once there, she looked for the man in the 'brown tweed jacket'. Really, the clothing choice should have been her first tip. The man had a round, kid-like face and watery blue eyes behind a pair of thick, circular plastic spectacles. His hair was, in contrast to his otherwise childish features and button nose, thinning unattractively and stuck out at odd angles around his temples. Number Thirteen was a Biology major, and enjoyed talking about the anatomical technicalities of fruit. Sarah had learned this the hard way when he launched into a discussion about how the orange she was eating was, in fact, the ovary of a plant. Sarah shuddered.

He was nice, and had offered dutifully to pay for the bill, but Sarah had refused and suggested that they split it. She did not want herself to be in his debt in any way. She had learned that lesson after Number Nine, who had tried to force himself on her with the guilt of his generosity hanging over her head. She had told him what she thought of his generosity – forcefully, and with her knee – and had left him cupping the family jewels with a twenty dollar bill. ("I'll be generous," she had said. "Keep the change.")

Yes, Number Thirteen had certainly been nice, in a vaguely endearing kind of way, but Sarah was beginning to come to terms with the fact that she did not want nice anymore. She wanted chemistry. Unfortunately for her, the only chemistry that she got came from her textbooks, whose equations did not result in steamy trysts or toe-curling orgasms. In all reality, she only hoped that it never had to come to that in the first place.

Sarah turned the corner on the lonely sidewalk of Urbana, Illinois' little college town of roughly 40,000 people. She smirked secretly to herself when she pondered what her fifteen-year-old self might think of her. No rise to stardom, no running off to Hollywood, not even so much as one lousy spot in a children's play since that life-changing night. The Labyrinth had truly turned Sarah into a new person. After the heady glow of triumph had worn off and she had celebrated with her new friends, she had found that the little switch in her brain had been irreversibly turned from 'Theatric' to 'Realistic'. She held no regrets. The Labyrinth had shown her how full of color, life, and vibrancy the real world could be, without her running off to the drama department to bury her head in the metaphorical sand of some dream-fulfilling play script.

She never lost her love of literature, though. In fact, it seemed to have only increased with her new drive to analyze the world, to see what made certain people tick. The written word, she had found, was a window into someone else's mind, and she cherished that connection. If she was honest with herself, it was only the comforting words of centuries of cultured writers that had anchored her through her ever-changing college life. That, and chemistry.

Oh yes, chemistry. Fifteen-year-old Sarah would have gagged at the penchant she now had for science, but that had been when Bill Nye the Science Guy was still the most enjoyable thing about 'science class'. Once she took her first introductory chemistry class in her sophomore year, she was hooked. Something about the way chemicals, both pure elements and compounds, could react to each other the same way every time, could form new substances, could attract and repel each other... it was as if they were obeying an actor's script that could only be understood by the building blocks of nature. It was alluring and, sometimes, even exhilarating. She could find the poetry in chemistry, and the chemistry in literature. They were the two great loves in her life.

The only two loves in my life, Sarah scowled as she shuffled her feet morosely. Literature and chemistry were great and all, but unless one was willing to get really creative, the two could do very little as far as physical satisfaction went. Lord Byron could stoke the flames of passion, but he certainly did not do her much good as words stuck to a page.

Thirteen weeks, she pondered. A little more than three months, but thirteen weeks made it sound more accurately long and painful. There was something significant about that fateful, unlucky number. For all the good it had done her, it might as well have been thirteen hours.

Sarah grimaced as the train of thought led her down memory lane. There had been a time when thirteen hours had seemed terrifyingly short. Now all Sarah could think of was how simple it had all been. Just an attractive, neurotic Goblin King with a penchant for stealing babies from petulant teenagers, a timed trial, and a quest for the greater good. There was no whirlwind of college life, no stress of studies, no long-term relationships, no aftermath of –

Sarah shook her head at herself. Stop brooding, Sarah… nothing can change That anymore. Let it go.

Sarah obediently clenched her teeth in a way that she was positive her dentist would disapprove of, jaw aching as a distraction to her thoughts. Sucking in crisp air between locked teeth, she exhaled noisily through her nose and imagined all of her tension lifting away with the carbon dioxide in her breath. The Labyrinth was a general oasis in her otherwise poisoned mind, so she retreated back to safe turf.

Then again, her thoughts of the Labyrinth were becoming exponentially less centered on the Labyrinth, and exponentially more centered on its King. The one with the shamelessly tight breeches that displayed a package all-too-pleasing to a starving college girl with thirteen-plus weeks of celibacy under her belt. Thirteen very long weeks.

His honeyed words meant very little to her now, especially since she was more than positive that they had been a device to lure her away from her quest. The presence of his physicality, however – his raw chemistry – was still seared into her memory with none of the confusion that her fifteen-year-old self had experienced it with. She had been but a girl, green and too terrified at the prospect of losing her brother because of some stupid wish to pay more attention. Now, in Sarah's much more mature mentality, she could remember his grace, his commanding presence, his voice.

She would be lying if she said that that voice – and those hands – had not visited her more than a few times ever since this whole debacle started. If only…

"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be – take this bad dating streak of mine far away from me!" she grumbled under her breath. A second later, she scoffed at the improvised line, but inexplicably felt better for saying it. The undergrad senior hugged herself more closely against the brisk air of autumn in August. Silly Sarah. What she needed was a warm bath, and maybe she would try clubbing next month –

"As you wish, precious."

The clack of her boots on the cold sidewalk stopped. Sarah cocked her head to one side, trying to decide if her sleep debt was catching up with her, or if she had just made a terrible mistake. But no – she had not said 'I wish'.

She shrugged and began to preoccupy herself with thoughts of the political science essay she needed to have done by Monday. Just think, she could have been blissfully holed up in her room writing about the evolution of American Federalism instead of wasting her time with the romantic equivalent of Puff the Magic Dragon.

At least good ol' Puff lived by the sea and not with his mother, Sara thought bitterly.

"You know, precious, it is incredibly rude to ignore someone when he offers to lay the world at your feet." The regal voice sighed. "Some things never change, it seems."

To her credit, Sarah did not even falter this time, though she did shiver. The voice was closer, and she could feel her palms sweating with a strange mix of paranoia and excitement. She tamped down both reactions in favor for rationality.

"You are not real – you are merely the product of intense sexual frustration and stressful course work."

"Indeed?" The drawl sounded both surprised and amused. Sarah felt herself flush despite herself, but continued on fearlessly. The clicks of her boots were crisper now, and she held herself more erect.

"Quite. Now, if you don't go away soon, I will be forced to see a psychiatrist, who will put me on medication for schizophrenia, or something – overactive dopamine levels, and all that."

Silence. Sarah waited another good five paces before she allowed herself a sigh of relief. Mental derangement was not something she wished to add to her list of stress.

To still the uneasy feeling that had begun coiling in her stomach, she walked herself through the chemical equation of nuclear explosion. One neutron and one Uranium atom of atomic mass… 235? Yes, it was 235 – yielded the products of Barium-141 and Krypton-92, along with… what, three other neutrons? No, no… it would be two extra neutrons. One neutron came along and knocked a perfectly happy Uranium atom apart to pieces, producing tremendous amounts of energy and two simple, innocent little bastard neutrons.

Then they would all go on their merry way and cause the most terrific kind of destruction that mankind had ever had the pleasure of being obsessed with.

"You're still there, aren't you?" It was a grim statement, said in the kind of tone of one who prepares to throw the dirt over her own grave.

"How astute of you to notice. For a fearful moment, I was afraid you had grown both more beautiful, and more jaded." Sarah felt the insane urge to laugh bubble against her throat, but she swallowed it with a weak whimper.

Right on one account at least. No guarantee on 'more beautiful', either.

Sarah grunted. "Actually, I was just thinking about Fate."

Am I the neutron or the Uranium? Or am I merely a product? Am I even in the equation, or am I just a devastating side effect?

This was what she deserved for double majoring in Chemistry and English.

Behind her, the voice was nonplussed at her self-deprecating train of thought.

"Hmm. Nasty business, Fate. I would know, I have had centuries upon centuries to deal with the thing, and it never has served me well."

When Sarah immediately felt inclined to agree, the rational part of her brain began blaring rather belated alarms of how ludicrous this was. Sarah suddenly stopped, fed up with this outlandish fever dream. It was too horrendously – or perhaps too perfectly –timed, it was too convenient. If she had been reading this in a story, she would have called it 'contrived'! Fate be damned, she had not come this far to fall prey to thwarted sexual fantasy! She was not talking to the Goblin King. Not after That, not after so many goddamn months of no sex (which her boiling temper assured her that he probably got plenty of!), and definitely not after weeks of being plagued with raw and rather embarrassing dreams of the owner of that voice.

Nails digging into her palms, Sarah Williams turned on her heel to face the Goblin King. Enough was enough. She was a big girl now, and the sharp-as-knife words pushing at her tongue comforted her with the knowledge that she would show him exactly what-for.

She was prepared for his self-assured grin, she was ready for his Goblin armor, and hell, she was practically begging for a fight – but this?

He was nowhere to be seen.

Sarah felt the nervous energy of her stomach rise and become a strangled sound of a woman who was at the end of her rope, deep in the back of her throat. The ire of mere moments before left her in a sudden exodus, leaving her hands limp and shaking with her breath shuddering in her chest. Her eyes were gritty with fatigue, she was feverish despite the cold from improper diet and lack of sleep, her feet ached, and all she had to go home to was Alexandre Dumas. For absolutely no reason at all, the weight and stress of the last four months since That had happened decided to choose right now to taunt her with mental instability. Her chest felt painfully tight, her breath scraped like sandpaper against her tight throat, her eyes began to burn and damn it, none of it was fair –

"You do not look happy to see me, precious. I wonder why?"

This time she whirled quickly, and was caught off guard when she actually saw him, casually leaning against a lamppost as if his absence had not almost triggered her mental breakdown. Wordlessly, she gawked at him, glassy eyes forgotten. Then, she gawked at him for an entirely different reason.

Sarah swore to herself that she would have time to hate him for being so damnably self-assured while she was so miserable, later… but for now, she drank in the sight of him hungrily as one does when one forgets the sensation of satisfaction. All that was left was anticipation and need.

The Goblin King, of course, was not oblivious. Pointed teeth glinted in the dim lamp light as his lips parted in a slow, sly smirk. Sarah gulped heavily and forced herself not to lick her lips.

"See something you like, precious?"

Oh, yes. Yes, very much indeed.

"What do you want, Goblin King?"

He raised his eyebrows in a mockery of innocence, finally pulling himself from his leaning position and sauntering towards her a few steps.

"I, precious? What do I want? Well, I should think that would be obvious." He stopped a few steps away from her, but a faint, chill wind blew his scent towards her, and Sarah nearly growled. No living being had the right to smell that masculine. "My only desire is to fulfill your every wish."

Sarah's eyes bulged unbecomingly, and she nearly choked at how wonderful and wrong that last statement was. She was especially caught up on how his tongue had lingered on the word desire, drawing it out and savoring it as though it was an exotic fruit. Her insides quivered giddily. In that moment, she could not vouch for her will being as strong as his. She was not sure she wanted it to be.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Sarah. Focus!

"B-but I never said 'I wish'!" she stammered, wincing at how pathetic it sounded. The Goblin King would undoubtedly think she trembled with fear in his presence. Little did he know that she only trembled because the words she really wanted to say were entirely different.

The royalty shrugged, conjuring a crystal and feigning preoccupation with contact juggling. Sarah focused on the bauble closely, praying to every deity who would listen that he could not see her dreams in this one.

"You would be surprised at how slow business has been lately, my dear. I find that I will take what I can get." His eyes darted up to hers, arresting her breath and making her stand stock-still. His lips quirked and he strolled forward to circle her. Sarah fought the urge to scream… or plead. "In fact, I have been waiting for a very long time to find any invitation to come to the Aboveground. It only seems fitting that the invitation would come from you, my dear." He was by her right ear now, and she could feel the magnetism of his body drawing her in. She shuddered, mostly with the effort of keeping her impulses in check. Sifting through the fog of her senses, she searched for something akin to normal conversation to latch on to.

"Why would business be slow?" she finally asked. She stopped herself from wincing again, though she did mentally kick herself in the rear. If she was trying to push away any chance she had at ending this drought of hers, she was doing a bang-up job of it. Sarah found with a growing sense of horror that she was not quite sure how to be appealing anymore, let alone seductive.

Apparently, the Goblin King was not expecting this turn of conversation either, but he was gracious enough to role with the punch. He vanished the crystal and stopped in front of her, an arm's length away.

"It is a rather long story, my dear, and full of boring Underground politics." He eyed her curiously. It seemed he was finally catching on to the fact that she was a very different person than she had left him.

Something in his manner – less pompous now, more inquisitive – made her bolder. She finally met his eyes without hesitation, and in that moment, she decided to act like the grown woman she was. They were two adults, admittedly with some unconventional history, but she could very well treat him as more than the desirable villain that she had painted him as. She smiled disarmingly, and cherished the glimmer of satisfaction in her chest when his unearthly mismatched eyes betrayed a look of surprise.

"I rather like long stories," she said brightly. The bewilderment turned to distrust. "Would you care to come back to my apartment and relate it to me? I have tea."

They stared at each other for a very long moment after that, the self-assurance of the Goblin King all but vanished as he attempted to understand what to make of her. Eventually, his searching eyes yielded to a slight curling of his lips, an odd expression settling itself into the lines of his eyes and mouth. She could not quite place a name to it – Bemusement? Appraisal? Respect? She found that she did not much mind any of those.

Slowly, deliberately, he offered his arm to her. "Very well, precious. I accept."

She smiled wider this time, more genuine. The moment she nestled her hand comfortably in the crook of his arm, she realized how isolated she had made herself this last quarter-year. After That had happened, plenty of friends and family had offered their sympathies, had made themselves available "if she ever wanted to talk". She had not wanted their sentiment – their sympathy, empathy, pity, whatever it was. Though it might have been 'unhealthy', she had found that she just wanted to put the whole ordeal behind her and move on… but she had sacrificed her normal relationships in the process.

Now, as Sarah was being escorted by the stately Goblin King in her small little town in Illinois, she felt as though she really had slipped into the warm bath that she had been fantasizing about earlier. There was no such danger of being bombarded with doleful eyes or understanding hugs, no chance that the Goblin King would suffocate her with sentimentality and painful memories. Sure, a good portion of her mind was definitely caught up in the casual brushes of the Goblin King's lean body next to hers, and in the definitely intoxicating scent that surrounded him like an addicting miasma…

… but the pleasure she felt was more than just physical. She was content. Sarah gave a little sigh and adjusted herself more naturally to the Goblin King's stride as he began to relate to her all that had happened in the Underground since her departure nearly seven years ago.

It was good to have a companion again.

"So she wished away her cat?"

"Indeed! But that isn't the last of it, I'm afraid." He grimaced. "It turns out, she had very good reason to wish it away. Within a week, the demon thing had traumatized half of the goblin population and had commandeered the chicken coops. It took a battalion of my bravest goblins in order to capture it and go Aboveground to beg the poor woman to take it back!"

Sarah threw her head back and laughed in a way she hadn't in quite a long time. "Did she?"

The Goblin King scoffed. "Of course not. I would have doubted her sanity."

The two of them mounted the stairs to Sarah's small apartment, now speaking like old friends. Sarah paused to wave to the landlady, who had popped her head out of her door to see what all of the ruckus was. If Sarah noticed the matronly woman's obvious surprise at seeing her chatting and laughing with a rather eccentric man after about a quarter of a year of solitude, she made no sign of it.

Sarah's keys jingled merrily as she opened her door. Rationality gave her a moment of pause to consider the wisdom of inviting the Goblin King into her home, but she shrugged it off. It was too late now, and she was having the best time – and conversation – she had had in many weeks.

"So what did you do with it? Surely you didn't keep the thing."

He barked a laugh. "Hardly!" Those sharp canines of his matched the mischief in his eyes when he spoke next. "Suffice to say, the Troll King found himself a lovely new pet as part of a political bargain that it would have been social suicide to reject."

She gaped at him with a mixture of incredulity and amusement in her eyes. "You're terrible!"

He, in turn, had the gall to look immensely self-satisfied. "That is what I am told."

Chuckling, she shook her head and turned the knob at last. Leaning against the wall to unlace her boots, she glanced surreptitiously around the apartment, suddenly very self-conscious. The Goblin King sauntered in as if he owned the place, and she only had the sense to think of how out of place he looked next to her battered, garage-sale coffee table littered with chemistry equations and books with titles like How to Read Literature Like a Professor, and World Politics and You!

She closed her door and locked it out of habit, waiting with a new tense nervousness for his reaction. Trying to seem unaffected, she bustled into her kitchen area (really, it was more of a kitchenette) and put on a kettle for the tea she had promised him.

Finally, he spoke. "This is… quaint."

Sarah felt the urge to snort, but also felt obliged to be defensive of her little sanctuary. "I know it isn't much, and it certainly isn't a Goblin Castle, but does it's job. Besides," she sniffed, putting on airs. "We can't all make a sumptuous living off of baby-snatching from around the globe, now can we?"

Unexpectedly, the Goblin King's expression fell and darkened a bit, and he took the liberty of sinking comfortably into her secondhand love seat.

"Actually, it should please you to hear that that is exactly the problem of my 'long story'." He managed to look deep in thought and serious while also draping a leg over his new throne. Sarah swallowed and forced herself to look away. She wasn't sure if she would look at that seat the same way after tonight.

She cleared her throat and came to join him in the 'living room', which wasn't so much a living room as it was a large room for her books. She owned no television set – only a cheap bookshelf laden with texts and novels from over the years, bought at half-price from online or through friends. The little futon she sat at was practically ancient – it had been her mother's before the divorce, and Sarah had only taken it because it could transform easily into a bed if she decided to sleep with her books after a long night of studying.

All in all, she thought it would be best if she kept her guest preoccupied with his thoughts – perhaps then he wouldn't notice his Spartan surroundings. One could hope.

"Ah yes, your 'long story'. Please elaborate."

He swung his legs down to normal sitting position and leaned towards her with a theatrical air. "Well," he began. "It may shock you to hear this, but youwere actually my last legitimate Runner, all those years ago." When she raised her eyebrows, expecting the punchline, he continued. "Not a single child has been wished away since."

She gave him a look. "If you're accusing me of something…"

He shook his head quickly. "Not at all, precious. Indeed, no – I suppose I should be thanking you." He looked ironic for a second. "Although you certainly left your mark on the Goblin City – " She had the decency to flush. " – you did give me a spot of business and amusement."

"But why have you received no wishes, then?"

He shrugged and leaned back in his commandeered seat. "It isn't that people have stopped wishing – they simply do not wish to me. The thing is, Sarah dear –" She blinked, unused to hearing her name from his lips, but he continued obliviously. " – no one believes anymore."

After a moment of letting that comment sink in, Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. You're not telling me that you're like Tinkerbell or something, and will cease to exist unless the people in the world clap their hands and say 'I do believe in fairies'?"

He glared at her. "Don't be silly. My life-force has absolutely nothing to do with it. Business, however, does." He sighed dramatically. "The world nowadays is much more hands-on, do-it-yourself. There's no more room for goblins to come whisking away people's problems and teaching them lessons of self-discovery."

Sarah leaned her head against her hand, curious now. "How do you mean?"

The look in his eyes as they darted to meet hers, as if he was assessing her ability to accept his next words, made her feel strangely exposed. It was as if she was trying to pass a surprise examination. She resisted the urge to fidget, and met his eyes without daring to blink.

The moment passed, and she wondered if she had just imagined it. "People do not wish away their children anymore, mostly because of the astounding amount of antipathy towards magic and anything to do with the Underground. This does not mean, however, that they have become more wise or grateful for the gift of human life. Oh no," his gaze was almost… haunted. Sarah found that she could not look away. "No, now they simply solve their 'problems' themselves. Children are neglected, sometimes beaten. When they behave poorly, instead of enticing those around them to wish them away, they are instead abandoned or punished severely. I have seen newborns left in dumpsters, or heartlessly deserted by over-loaded orphanages or health institutions. The problem is, I cannot intervene." The genuine look of anguish in his unseeing eyes and the tension in his clenched fist stirred something within Sarah, and she felt the impulsive need to cover his gloved hand with hers. She resisted, but continued to silently share in his pain. "Unless called upon by someone in the Aboveground, I cannot directly influence any future or outcome."

"What about ordinary wishes? Do they have to be directed at goblins for you to act upon them?" she asked, trying to opt for a slightly different path of conversation.

He pursed his lips. "Mundane wishes are the only reason why my kingdom has not completely fallen apart, but to be forced to acquiesce to such wishes is degrading and does very little to help my subjects. Wishes, you see, are complex things. They have to be worthy of granting, they have to be meant, and the wisher has to believe that it will be granted. Goblins live off of the wishes of humans, because they carry the power of belief which no Fae can replicate. Recently, humans tend to make empty wishes, or hopeless wishes, or wishes that even I would not grant." He looked troubled, and he turned his intense gaze to study her face. "Not only are you the only living Runner who has completed the Labyrinth, but you are one of the few true believers left."

Sarah drew breath to speak – though she had no idea what she could possibly say to something like that – when the high-pitched scream of the kettle on the stove made them both jump. Like a spell broken, the tense atmosphere was lightened with uneasy chuckles. Sarah smiled bashfully and rose to get the tea.

With a steadying breath, she collected herself, and willed her excited heart to be calm. The intensity of his gaze was more than a little alien after so long of being alone. She was unused to the scrutiny, and felt like he could read her like an open book. Of course, this must not have been completely true – if he could, they probably would not be speaking so freely. Either he would be laughing with disdain at the unholy desires of the once-pure little Sarah, or they would be in a position with much less clothing.

Sarah shook her head and attempted to pat the blush away from her cheeks, busying herself with making tea. She bit her lip when she opened her cupboard and saw only some years-old Earl Grey and some chicken-flavored Ramen noodles. She hadn't had a chance to go shopping. Feeling desperate, she felt into the back of the cupboard… and came out with a completely unopened gift from one of her friends from last summer. Surprised, she felt like laughing at her ironic fortune, and happily set about preparing the beverages. Feeling spontaneous and a little mischievous, she used the first of her Summer Peach tea bags, and poured a cup for each of them.

When she returned to the 'living' room, she was happy to find that the intense, serious Goblin King she had left was now replaced with an idly inquisitive one, looking through How to Read Literature Like a Professor with mild interest.

"I used to know this man you call 'the bard', once," he commented as he accepted his cup. "Interesting fellow, but he had a rather skewed perception of how the Fae world works. 'If we shadows have offended' – how ludicrous." He scoffed. "As if any self-respecting Fae creature would care about making an offense."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a sly grin. "And yet, you know enough to quote Shakespeare, hm?"

The Goblin King seemed about to protest, but stopped short. He glowered at the gloating look in her eyes and grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "decent storyteller for a human" before hiding behind a sip of tea.

Sarah watched him very closely even as she drank her own tea, accidentally scalding her tongue in the process. After her adventure in the Labyrinth, she had sensibly developed a kind of peach-phobia, and for a while, could barely even stand the smell of the fruit. One night shortly after her twenty-first birthday, however, she had gotten a little daring and had decided to try a peach schnapps as a kind of defiant comeback. It had quickly become a favorite of hers, and soon enough she had cultivated a contrary sort of peach obsession. 'No power over me', indeed.

The flavor was not lost on Jareth. As soon as the hot liquid touched his tongue, his eyes darted to her and widened slightly in masked surprise. She hid her grin behind her mug, but he could recognize the mischievous glee in her eyes as well as if they had been his own. He swallowed and set down his mug, looking at her with a new-found respect.

"My, my," he murmured. "You certainly have changed, haven't you?"

For absolutely no reason whatsoever, Sarah found that she blushed with pleasure at his perceived approval. She disguised the reaction by breaking eye contact and taking another sip of tea. She had a sneaking suspicion that the warmth sliding down her chest and into her stomach had absolutely nothing to do with the drink.

"It is odd," he continued. "How much I am… enjoying myself."

She met his eyes gain at that. He returned her look with and emotion caught between bemusement and humor.

"You would be surprised to know, I am sure, that this is the most conversation I have held with a woman, human or otherwise, in quite a while." He hummed after a moment. "Despite the intense efforts from the higher-ups to ensure otherwise."

Instantly, Sarah found herself conflicted between unreasonable satisfaction and something indescribable that felt like the little green whisper of envy. Sarah was caught between asking him what he had been doing with other women if not conversing with them, or asking why his 'higher-ups' would be trying so hard in the first place. Deciding that the first would have sounded oddly…clingy, she opted with the second.

His answering sigh was a long-suffering one. "Despite popular belief, precious, it is rather difficult to be a king – especially when your subjects hardly know the difference between a chicken and a child. Especially after your little…" He gestured vaguely in the air, "escapade, and the subsequent lack of human wishes, the Goblin Kingdom has fallen quite into disrepair."

Sarah's brow knitted of its own accord as she failed to see the connection. "Sorry, but what does that have to do with your 'higher-ups' forcing you to converse with women?"

He slapped his thigh. "That's just it, my dear! They think I've lost my touch!" Haughtily, he raised his nose in the air and looked indignant. "The entire Fae Court is convinced that I have willingly let the Goblin Kingdom turn to shambles, and that I need a queen to take care of it properly. 'A bachelor's pigsty', they say, or 'a disgrace to the Underground'!" Sarah snorted at his impersonation of his offenders. He looked irate, but gave her a begrudging smile. "You have no idea the insufferable agony of being forced to hold company with countless others who you know will never interest you in the slightest."

Sarah gave a little grunt at that. "Oh, trust me," she said, thinking back to the last thirteen weeks. "I have a pretty good idea."

In the comfortable silence that followed of two sympathizers against the world, Sarah could not be sure when exactly the her mind finally took the plunge down the rabbit hole. All she knew was that one moment, she was feeling as comfortable as could be with her new companion, and the next… the most devious of all twisted plots had sprouted.

No, she thought. Don't be ridiculous. Just go back to drinking your tea, silly girl.

But still, the thought persisted. She must have forgotten herself as she hesitantly entertained the idea, because the Goblin King noticed the change in her stare. She was looking at him with a considering air, as if she was at the grocery store trying to decide on the best bargain deal. His eyes narrowed, unused to being on the receiving end of such appraisal. He did not like the look in her eyes – and he told her as much.

Sarah started a little, and stammered an apology. "I'm just wondering," she found herself blurting. "Just wondering… if this crazy idea I have in my head is worth mentioning."

He seemed relieved, and raised an eyebrow encouragingly. "Ah. Well, come on then, let's hear it."

The woman blushed, suddenly feeling snared by her own trap, and cleared her throat. After a moment of deliberately straightening her shirt and making much ado about looking serious, she met his eyes with a bit of false bravado.

If you're going to do this, you had better do it right. No simpering little girl here – just a woman who knows what she wants.

"It would seem that we are both in disconcerting social positions," she began. "I haven't held decent company in months, and you are being bombarded with unwelcome advances. My idea is this."

Here goes.

"I will happily act as your Queen-to-be to get the Fairy Court or whatever off your back... emphasis on 'act' of course." Sarah paused. Here, she made direct eye contact, spoke clearly, and even used her hands. There would be no misunderstanding on this. "I in no way want to be your Queen," she gave a little snort laugh, as if the very thought was completely preposterous. "Gawd, no. Absolutely off-limits. Not if you paid me! I mean, right? That would be - I mean could you imagi - " She cut herself off, the glower that said 'not one step farther, precious' from the Goblin King. She cleared her throat and folded her hands diplomatically. "Anyway. My point is, I would be no more than an actress in a role. And, in return, we would ensure …" here was the sticky part, "… our mutual intimate gratification."

There. It had been said. Now for the reaction.

Jareth blinked, processing her words.

She waited.

He blinked again, looking at her, unsure, as if trying to decide if he had understood her in the way she had meant to be understood.

She watched him equally as carefully, trying to judge his reaction.

Finally, his eyebrows rose impossibly high and he leaned forward to the edge of his seat.

Bingo.

"Allow me to understand you fully, precious," he purred with a mixture of danger and incredulity. "You want to fool the entire Underground Court in exchange for – let me be as frank as possible – sex?"

She blushed, but gave a tiny, firm nod. "Well, if you want to be so indelicate about it… yes."

There was a moment of tense silence, in which Sarah was locked into a staring contest that was doing funny things to her stomach. This was the pivotal moment – he would either laugh at her and she would never see him again, or her love life was about to get very interesting.

Slowly, the Goblin King's eyes raked Sarah's form in a way that they had not before. His gaze strolled down her curves like he was walking in a park, and by the time they arrived back to meet her own eyes, she was an impressive shade of embarrassment. His lips parted in an equally deliberate display of pointed teeth, and he grinned a wolfish grin. Suddenly, he held out a leather-clad hand.

"Deal."

P.S. (if you don't read A/N's at the beginning) THIS IS NOT A SMUT FIC! (For more in-depth description, go back to the top)